


Casual Encounters

by Edgelord (lostlikeme)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Ass to Mouth, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Consent Issues, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Felching, Hardcore, M/M, Minor Violence, Recreational Drug Use, Under-negotiated Kink, poppers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 11:49:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostlikeme/pseuds/Edgelord
Summary: Alfred gets in over his head when a domineering Russian responds to his personal ad on craigslist.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've never used poppers before...so I'm writing this secondhand. Don't try anything without research, kids.

Alfred spent high school like he was supposed to - fucking drunk cheerleaders and forcing his way through handstand keggers. Writing a personal ad for Craigslist will be a cinch. (Like, duh, who wouldn’t want him?) Besides, isn’t that half the reason he picked a college so far from his home in Kansas? Yeah, the campus kicks ass and the meal plan isn’t a total ripoff, but what he’s really after is the anonymous gay sex. 

See, that’s the other thing. Being the star of the football team in a small town meant he never had the chance to try new things - like sucking dick, or eating sushi. Being in the city isn’t like that. He can go out at two am on a Tuesday for a california roll and a blowjob and come home with a belly full of both. If he never has to see another bowl of grits again, it’ll be too soon. 

He titles the ad “STR8 boi Ready 2 Be Your BITCH” and attaches a picture of his cock displayed proudly beside a Coke can. It looks thick and meaty in the palm of his hand. It’s easy to picture Arthur bitching about craigslist killers and self-respect, but there ain’t nothing to worry about. Once, when Alfred was taken into custody over graffiti, he accidentally broke the handcuffs. He’s basically a superhero, not some helpless maiden.

Unfortunately, most of the responses Alfred gets are trolls and fat dudes with gray pubic hair. Totally gross. He’s bored, soft, and starved for attention by the time he receives the winning ticket - a tall, Russian guy built like a brick house palming the front of his leather pants. The photo alone has him salivating, but the three clipped lines in the message push Alfred to the edge of his seat. 

TO: alfredf_ckyeahjones@***.com  
FROM: ComradeSVanya@***.ru  
SUBJECT: STR8 boi Ready 2 Be Your BITCH

Regular anal play + BDSM  
I give water sports & poppers  
Privacy is important. 

Regular anal play sounds sweet as apple pie with a heaping of S&M for whip cream. Poppers are another thing Alfred has only heard about, but he’s more than willing to give them a try. He doesn’t elaborate on watersports and Alfred is too lazy to look it up, so he packs a bathing suit just in case. He only has one real rule: wrap it before you tap it. 

Exchanging phone numbers includes his name and a string of graphic crotch shots, none of which are unsolicited. It’s hard to tell from this angle, but Ivan looks big enough to benchpress him with his dick. Alfred can’t help it - he’s a size queen for the same reason he overeats at buffets - his eyes are bigger than his stomach. 

They only speak on the phone once, to verify the address. Alfred isn’t ashamed to admit he’s been banking on an accent, and he isn’t disappointed by the domineering voice on the other end of the line. He ends up talking to Ivan with his phone against his shoulder and his right hand down his pants. Ivan breaks english down and dresses it up even better.

“It has to be at my place,” Ivan reminds him.

“Dude,” Alfred says, wiping off his hands. “I get it.”

It doesn’t strike Alfred that he might be underdressed until he lifts the heavy iron knocker on Ivan’s front door. Isn’t a t-shirt and jeans a little too casual, even for casual sex? He hardly has time to feel one way or the other about it before Ivan appears and wordlessly shuffles him through a sorry excuse for a lobby and into an elevator. The small talk is worse than the silence, but Alfred tolerates three minutes of clipped exchange about the weather anyway. 

Ivan lives alone on the third floor of a sparsely furnished two bedroom apartment, and he might be batting first place for the creepiest guy Alfred has ever met. It’s not just the way the deadbolt echoes when he locks the door or the fridge that looks like it survived the Cold War, either. The pipes in the kitchen hiss every time the heat manages to flicker on, and the second room is an even bigger surprise.

“This is my playroom,” Ivan says casually.

There are actual leather shackles that, upon further inspection, are drilled into the wall. The instruments hanging above it aren’t unfamiliar, but Alfred only knows the flogger and paddle by name. This is that shit straight out of the good porn, the kind of titles that always give his computer a virus. 

“Wow!” Alfred’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his head. “You even have a swing!”

Despite Ivan’s disapproving look, he runs across the room to try it out and ends up twisted in leather and shackles. He sways for a few moments before disconnecting in a pile on the floor. Ivan approaches, boots barely a few inches from treading his clothes. Alfred stares up at the towering man. 

“Please, become comfortable,” Ivan says, jaw tight.

Alfred picks himself up to finish scoping out the space, and discovers a little jar that could pass for a bottle of 5-hour energy drink on the coffee table. He inspects it in front of the light from the ceiling with curious blue eyes.

“Is this--” Alfred cuts himself short. “Poppers,” he realizes. Ivan nods. “So how do I do it?”

Ivan approaches from his stead by the doorway and retrieves it over Alfred’s shoulders. He unscrews the lid and closes one of Alfred’s nostrils with a calloused thumb. Alfred wrinkles his nose when Ivan holds the lip of the tincture close.

“Inhale,” Ivan commands.

The first whiff has Alfred swaying on his feet, and after the second he slowly lowers himself onto the stiff couch with double vision. It reminds him of when he spray paints a big tag and stands too close to the fumes. He feels dizzy and empty, hollow where he wants to be all full up.

“Holy shit,” Alfred says when the rush finally hits him. “I really, really wanna fuck.” 

Alfred is big, lean, and toned from years of football practice, but Ivan is huge. He bullies Alfred with sheer size, easily a weight class up. 

“Of course you do,” Ivan says. He boxes Alfred into the loveseat, fingers ghosting across his lips. “And I’m going to fuck you so well.”

Alfred isn’t actually scared - no fucking way - but his heartbeat trips and redoubles in his chest at the thought of being penetrated. “Wait a second,” Alfred manages. “I gotta whizz.” 

Usually, Alfred doesn’t have any problems with performance. He ducks out from beneath Ivan’s serious gaze and makes a beeline for the bathroom, nearly knocking over a bowl of potpourri before closing the door. Alfred rummages around for something to take the edge off but all the prescription bottles are empty and the names are illegible. He’s so hard he can’t even piss, so he splashes water on his face and washes his hands until the decorative soap is missing its features. 

When he returns, Ivan raises an eyebrow at Alfred’s change in wardrobe. The tacky flower print swim trunks bring out his eyes, Francis said so himself. He rubs his palm against the nape of his neck. In retrospect, it was probably rude to leave his clothes on the back of the toilet seat. 

“You said something about watersports,” Alfred reminds him. “And it was hot, so I figured, hey, now’s as good a time as any!”

The corner of Ivan’s mouth twitches but he doesn’t actually smile. “Cute,” he says, advancing a step at a time. When he’s close enough Ivan pulls his wrists overhead and holds them against the wall. He stares down his nose at the eager kid in his grasp. “But all done with cute now, da?”

Alfred doesn’t feel ready when Ivan slips a hand down the front of his shorts and greedy, oil slick fingers begin kneading and spreading his ass. Ivan sinks a finger inside too soon, easily wiggling past the first ring of relaxed muscle. He tears open another packet of lube with his free hand and his teeth, worming a second finger alongside the first.

“Popper works good, see?” 

The room sways when Ivan finds his prostate, jabbing it without remorse while Alfred gnaws on the exposed skin of his shoulder. Every so often his arm grazes Alfred’s erection, untouched and leaking between his legs. Alfred yelps when Ivan pulls out his fingers, wincing when he wipes his wet hand across Alfred’s stomach.

“Be quiet,” Ivan says, breathing heavily behind his ear. “You’re lucky I’m not sticking a q-tip down your dick.”

When Alfred turns around Ivan shoves him hard, with enough force that Alfred’s sternum creaks when he hits the wall. Alfred grinds his teeth, palms bleeding from where he broke his fall against the sharp stucco. He’s going to keep his dickhole as an exit only, if he can help it. He tries to buck his hips but Ivan quickly steels the movement, yanking his pants down and pinning him with a forearm against the small of his back. 

Before Alfred can complain, Ivan drops to his knees and buries his nose in Alfred’s crack, digging his tongue inside his ass. Alfred is softening from the inside out, making more space for Ivan’s cock with every sloppy kiss. When Alfred throws all his weight into escape, Ivan releases him, leaving him to crash violently to the floor with his shorts still around his ankles.

“You’re a sicko,” Alfred tells him, mouth full of blood. 

Ivan forces his knees apart to get a good luck at his cock, throbbing and pink tipped. When he squeezes it Alfred jumps. “And you like it.”

Alfred licks his lips and narrows his eyes. “Gonna tie me up now?”

“Ha.” Ivan’s eye contact never wavers. “No need.” 

Ivan maneuvers Alfred around with a hand at the base of his neck, leading him to the prize between his legs like a dog. He leans back on the couch and waits for Alfred to unzip him, thick as his wrist and only half hard. He breathes in another popper before letting the bottle roll from his hand, spilling precum into Alfred’s hollowed cheeks.

“Spit it out,” Ivan demands. He shoves a thumb between Alfred’s lips to pinch his tongue. “My little American faggot.”

Alfred grins, speech impeded by Ivan’s gooey fingers. “You cawt me red hanthed.”

Impatient, Ivan wrestles him to the floor, eager to finally fuck. Alfred assumes the doggy position like he has formal training, twisting around to watch Ivan pull his shirt over his head. 

He doesn’t mean to sound like a total teenage girl. “You got a condom, right?”

“Da.” Ivan’s lips form a thin line, but his eyes light up. He rolls the latex over his dick in one swift motion and lines himself up without further encouragement. “No balloon, no party.”

Alfred howls when the first ring of muscle collapses against the blunt head of Ivan’s cock, swallowing up his shaft as Ivan ploughs his way through. The unpaved channel contracts when Ivan tears his way into Alfred’s rectum, stretching out the dime sized hole until it fits like a slippery glove. 

“How many cocks have you had?”

His balls feel heavy in Ivan’s warm palm, and he can’t think fast enough to come up with a lie this close to blowing his load. “Toys,” he blurts, brain on the border of fizzling out. “But I’m ready for the real thing,” he wheezes. “I promise.”

Alfred’s nipples snag on the carpet as Ivan fucks him across it, voice hoarse from screaming. He yelps when Ivan digs his fingers into the tender meat of his ass and slaps it hard, sphincter contracting around the dick inside him. 

“Turn to me,” Ivan orders.

He holds Alfred still with one hand, forcing his tongue past puckered lips. Ivan licks the roof of his mouth, snapping viciously when he doesn’t shrink away. He scrubs the wet muscle down Alfred’s throat until he groans and starts to gasp for air.

Ivan pulls back. “Like me to fuck your mouth?”

Alfred feels his asshole flutter when Ivan pulls out, presenting his cock before reaching across his back to stick two fingers inside his loosened hole. It gapes around them, still stretched out to fit the shape of his sex. 

“Tighten up,” Ivan complains, thrusting his hips forward and shoving his slimy dick into Alfred’s cheek. “Clean it off. You like the taste of yourself.” 

It’s not a question, but Alfred agrees regardless. Alfred knew the day he discovered he didn’t have a gag reflex that he was destined for greater things; it turns out this is one of them. He loves everything about himself and the fat dick drilling his face. Ivan pulls back the foreskin and rubs the shiny head against Alfred’s tongue, pistoning his hips when he tries to swallow. 

Alfred is still dry heaving when Ivan shoves his dick back inside, asshole flexible around the forced entry. Ivan grabs Alfred’s hips and inches him over the arm of the couch. Bent at the waist, Alfred braces himself awkwardly on his elbows, trying to catch a glimpse of Ivan over his shoulder. 

“Not to worry,” Ivan assures him. “I’m not here for your face.” The heavy hand on the back of Alfred’s skull forces him to face the floor. “I’m here for your fuck hole.”

“Shit,” Alfred curses. “You’re fuckin huge,” he manages hoarsely, “but I can take it,” he insists, “I swear.”

Ivan rams him from behind with the finesse of a cement truck and Alfred sobs, cock trapped between his belly and the stiff curve of the couch. Each fuck forward knocks the breath from Alfred’s lungs and flattens him a little further. Ivan wraps his arm around to stroke off the prick bobbing uselessly between his legs and leaking precum down his chest. 

“Ask nicely,” Ivan reminds him. 

“Fuck you,” Alfred spits. “You’re gonna break me in a half,” he mutters, drool leaking down his chin. He wipes the spit from his face and backs up onto Ivan’s cock the best he can, close to crying. “I wanna come,” he confesses, chest heaving. “Please.”

His vision goes spotty as Ivan works him over, terrorizing Alfred’s prostate until his balls unload, smearing his stomach with cum. It leaks onto Alfred’s tear streaked face when Ivan pulls out, hauling Alfred right side up and into his lap on the couch. He ties off the condom and flicks it across the room before repositioning Alfred above him.

“Use another condom,” Alfred says, thighs trembling.

“I heard you, slut.” Ivan smooths his hand over Alfred’s abs before yanking him back into his lap. “But I want to fill your belly with my seed.”

Revulsion hits Alfred so hard he feels sick. He shakes his head twice, unprocessing, arms curled around his stomach. “No way.” His eyes bulge when he sweeps the room and finds himself trapped. “Not cool,” he repeats, tongue heavy in his throat. “Dude,” he tries, “bro,” he rambles. “I don’t like it when - “

Ivan never lets him finish. “And I don’t like it when selfish little American doesn’t mind his place.”

He slides all the way into the hilt and then some, stirring Alfred up from the inside before pulling out to watch his hole shrink like elastic. Alfred can hardly breath with Ivan pillaging his prostate like a jackhammer, forcing more spunk from Alred’s softening cock. Ivan’s control begins to slip when he closes his fingers around Alfred’s throat.

“No more,” Alfred slurs, starry-eyed. 

His eyes gloss over when Ivan impales him on his dick, holding Alfred in place while he piledrives him from below and wrings another orgasm from his oversexed body. The couch creaks from force of his thrusts and Ivan finishes with a shudder, pumping load after load of sperm inside him. He releases his chokehold and Alfred slumps forward, ass still spasming and milking the last of the cum from his dick. 

Ivan lifts him with the carefulness of a giant, lowering Alfred onto the couch and pulling his thighs up over his head. Alfred flinches when Ivan hunches over to lick him from the tip of his cock to his taint, before delving in to clean his oozing hole. 

Ivan shrugs. “I make a mess, I clean it up.” Alfred covers his mouth when Ivan tries to kiss him. “You're staying the night.”

Alfred rubs his eyes. “Sure thing, man.”

Outside the barred window, dusk has settled. Ivan untangles their limbs and bends at the knees to pull Alfred into his arms and carry him bridal style into the bedroom. He tucks Alfred into the silky red sheets and kisses his forehead before disappearing into the bathroom. 

Ten minutes pass before Alfred grows bored and begins searching for his cellphone. He comes up short, but finds a pair of bunny slippers, a tome on Russian ballet, a sweatshirt with a maple leaf on the front, and a wallet. He flips it open to find a picture of a guy about his age with white hair and bright red eyes. 

“Feeling at home?” Ivan startles him with a hand on his shoulder while Alfred is studying the details. 

Alfred shows him the photo ID. “Who’s this?”

Ivan’s face smooths over, insincere. “The one that got away,” he says with a hollow laugh. Ivan presses two painkillers to Alfred’s lips and waits for him to swallow without water. “My brother.”

Alfred squints and still can’t see the resemblance. He shrugs and hands it over as Ivan slips into bed beside him. When Ivan turns off the lamp, darkness swallows up the whole room. The hair on the back of his neck stands up when Ivan presses his naked body flush against his back. 

“Had a feeling you were a snuggler,” he murmurs before post-orgasmic bliss lures him into a dream about fourth of July cheeseburgers.


End file.
